[Congressional Record Volume 165, Number 206 (Thursday, December 19, 2019)]
[Senate]
[Page S7223]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                      REMEMBERING WILLIAM EBELTOFT

  Mr. TESTER. Mr. President, we have had a fruitful day here today. We 
passed a lot of bills. We did it in a bipartisan way. I want to thank 
both Leader McConnell and Leader Schumer for their good work, as well 
as Chairman Shelby and Ranking Member Leahy for their good work on 
these bills.
  Today, I am going to do something that I have never done before. I am 
going to read an obituary about a man I don't believe I have ever met, 
even though I was in the Veterans' Home of Columbia Falls while he was 
there. This obituary was passed on to me by my wife, who got it from a 
friend. It is incredibly powerful because, quite frankly, it is about 
one man, but it is actually about a generation of men and women who 
served in Vietnam.
  This guy's name was William Ebeltoft. The obituary goes like this:

       ``Not everyone who lost his life in Vietnam died there.'' 
     The saying is true for CW2 William C. Ebeltoft. He died on 
     December 15, 2019 at the Veteran's Home in Columbia Falls, 
     Montana. He died 50 years after he lost, in Vietnam, all that 
     underpinned his life. He was 73 years old.
       Everyone called him ``Bill.'' He was loved by the nursing 
     staff who cared for him. He was loved by the fellow veterans 
     with whom he lived; those he helped when he was able and 
     entertained with funny German slang and a stint at the piano 
     when he could. He was a virtuoso when playing ``Waltzing 
     Matilda.''
       His small family loved him dearly. He was preceded in death 
     by his parents, Paul and Mary Ebeltoft of Dickinson, North 
     Dakota, whose devotion and care for their war-damaged boy was 
     strong and unfailing. He is survived by his brother, Paul 
     Ebeltoft, and the one he loved as the sister he never had, 
     Paul's wife, Gail. . . . It is difficult to write about Bill. 
     He lived three lives: before, during and after Vietnam. 
     Before Vietnam, Bill was a handsome man, who wore clothing 
     well; a man with white, straight teeth that showed in his 
     ready smile. A state champion trap shooter, a low handicap 
     golfer, a 218-average bowler, a man of quick, earthy wit, 
     with a fondness for children, old men, hunting, fast cars, 
     and a cold Schlitz. He told jokes well.
       During Vietnam, he lived with horrors of which he would 
     only seldom speak. Slow Motion Four, Bill's personal call 
     sign, logged thousands of helicopter flight hours performing 
     Forward Support Base resupply landings, medical evacuations, 
     exfils and gun ship runs. We know of him there mostly through 
     medals for valor he received, and these were many. . . . 
     While attempting to resupply B Company, [Warrant Officer] 
     Ebeltoft's co-pilot became wounded. Realizing the importance 
     of the mission WO Ebeltoft elected to attempt completion of 
     the mission. Due to his superior knowledge of the aircraft, 
     the helicopter was kept under control during the period in 
     which the pilot was wounded and the ship was under fire. 
     Remaining under attack from automatic weapons fire, the 
     supply mission was successfully completed. While unloading 
     the supplies, WO Ebeltoft received word that there were five 
     emergency medical evacuation cases located 200 meters to his 
     rear. WO Ebeltoft re-positioned his helicopter and picked up 
     the wounded personnel. While evacuating the wounded, the 
     commanding officer of Company B was injured. WO Ebeltoft 
     again maneuvered his aircraft to enable evacuation of the 
     injured officer. WO Ebeltoft then proceeded to evacuate all 
     injured personnel by the fastest possible means. Upon 
     completion, examination of the aircraft revealed that the 
     aircraft had sustained nine enemy .30 caliber hits.
       Bill got the medal, of course, but he would have been the 
     last to say anything about it. The citation shows the type of 
     man that he, and many of his brothers-in-arms in Vietnam 
     were; and still are today, albeit battered hard and unfairly 
     by the cruel winds of the time in which they fought.
       After being discharged as a decorated hero, Bill had a 
     rough re-entry into civilian life. It is not necessary to 
     recount Bill's portion of what is an all-too-common story for 
     wartime veterans, particularly those of the Vietnam era. It 
     may be sufficient to say that after a run at business, a 
     marriage and while grappling daily with his demons, his 
     mental faculties escaped him. Bill became a resident of the 
     Veteran's Home in Columbia Falls, Montana in 1994. He lived 
     there for the next 26 years.
       At the Home, the patina of his memory covered life's 
     sorrows, and it was a blessing. Bill was happy there, living 
     a life that was a strange mixture of hunting stories, pickup 
     trucks and memories of some of his better times with women, 
     friends and the outdoor life. Bill denied that anyone he 
     loved had died; could not understand why anyone would fill 
     with gas at four bucks a gallon when ``Johnny's Standard 
     sells it for 27 cents;'' and still ``drove'' his 1968 Dodge 
     Charger. He was unfailingly courteous. His largest concerns 
     were making his smoke breaks and finding his wallet (a search 
     of 26 years.)
       In the past year, Bill's shaky grip on physical health also 
     slipped through his fingers. Yet, despite this, what we loved 
     in him remained, if only sometimes as a shadow. Even after 
     his serious decline, suffering fractures because of falls, 
     Bill would tell the staff that he was ``just fine'' and not 
     to worry about him. Thin, hunched over, propelling himself 
     with one foot, he would wheel himself into the room of a bed-
     ridden veteran and sit there, next to the bed, unspeaking. 
     The nursing staff was certain that Bill thought that the man 
     in bed was lonely and needed company.
       Bill was always a proud man, remembering himself as he was 
     in 1969, not as he became. Who are we to suggest differently? 
     His was not a life that many would wish for, but in some 
     ways, Bill was a lucky man. He was surrounded to the end by 
     staff who enjoyed and respected him. He had a chance to be 
     helpful to others who were doing less well than he. And the 
     passing of the seasons never diminished his plans for another 
     elk hunt or to ``see that beautiful girl again this 
     weekend.''
       When a small slice of reality penetrated his pleasant 
     confusion, Bill struggled to understand why he was where he 
     was. Prematurely aged, his worldly goods in a small dresser, 
     not knowing who the President might be or remembering why he 
     should care, Bill's losses were greater than most of us could 
     endure. Yet, to those who love him, his brother and his 
     brother's wife, and their sons, he will always be a brave, 
     accomplished man, more generous than was wise, more trusting 
     than was safe.
       It is not possible to wrap your arms around a loved one who 
     leaves. But it is possible to wrap your heart around a 
     memory. Bill's will be well taken care of.

  I yield the floor.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator from Ohio.

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